in the silence between worlds (that's where I'll find you)
by viansian
Summary: It's a goddamn tragedy that both of them could be so incredibly in love with each other and yet neither could notice it. aka everyone knows Bellamy and Clarke are in love except for Bellamy and Clarke.


in the silence between worlds (that's where I'll find you)

Summary: It's a goddamn tragedy that both of them could be so incredibly in love with each other and yet neither could notice it.

aka everyone knows Bellamy and Clarke are in love except for Bellamy and Clarke.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dante<strong>_

When his guards drag 48 teenagers into the mountain and throw them into the quarantined zone, he wonders what in the world they've gotten themselves into. He's dealt with the savages that inhabit the outside ground before; he knows how to handle them. But when these aliens, these _children_, begin waking up, with fear in their eyes and questions on their lips, looking for some form of respite, he cannot help but try to pacify them, to give them the rest he knows they deserve.

They all accept his offer of safety. Well, all but the girl.

He tries to calm her after she attacks Maya. He tries to tell her that she is safe and she can stop fighting (he sees in her eyes that she does not _want_ to stop fighting). He tries to give her what she wants, to give her a home.

The girl will not stop fighting; stop shutting him out at every turn. Despite all his efforts, she _will not stop fighting_.

It is not until she escapes that he finally realizes she was fighting not to just simply fight. She was not fighting because that was all she knew, or because that was the only way she could retain some control over her situation.

She was fighting to get back to something, _someone_.

He can blame her to for being stubborn. He can blame her for being hardheaded. But he cannot blame her for that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Finn<strong>_

He wonders if she will still love him after all he's done.

It hurts his chest to think about it; to think about all that he's done to get to her, to find her, to make sure that she is safe. It hurts him to think of all the people he's hurt for her. It hurts even more to think that she'd probably hate him for doing it.

But then again Clarke had never realized her own worth, and realizing that worth was something Finn Collins had always prided himself on. He had known from the moment she had stood up to a strange man, telling him that he couldn't open the door to the dropship that this girl with hair like the sun would be something special. And he still believes she is.

She is so unlike anyone he has ever met. So brave, so strong; she is stronger than him by far. Even when she had thought he was dead, killed by grounders because of her failure to save a life, she had continued fighting, trying to get back to her people. He remembers her telling him that she had killed a man to escape, the pain in her eyes as if she was confessing to a genocide of an entire people rather than an act of self defense and survival.

He almost manages to convince himself that his killing the one-eyed grounder was the same.

But then he remembers Bellamy's words and he wants to throw up.

"_It would be an _execution._"_

Is that what he is? An executioner? He wonders at what point he had dubbed himself better than the rest, at what point the delinquent who made poor life decisions became the self-elected moral compass. He knows that Bellamy and the others had claimed his motions for peace had been nothing but a "holier than thou" attitude, and at the time he had brushed them off as nothing but war-mongering savages who would have their battle at any cost, even that of a bunch of kids' lives.

Now, he isn't so sure.

In the past few days he has seen a turn of events, a shift of power. He sees Bellamy (_Bellamy Blake!_) acting in a way he would almost deem heroic. He will never forget the surprise he felt when the dark-haired man had leapt out from being the trees, completely alone, yelling at the grounder general to let him go.

It was something he himself would've done, not Bellamy.

And then in the bunker, he had seen how tightly Clarke's co-leader had gripped her watch, holding onto it as if the object was a loaf of bread he was a starving man. His words to Murphy rang in the younger boy's ears.

"_We're not killing him."_

"_He's defenseless." _

Since when did the almost-assassin care about the life of one grounder scavenger? (His fingers burn where the trigger touched his skin, scorching its mark onto him.) Who gave him the right to want to protect life? (He feels the gun jerking back in his hands, hears the grounder's body hitting the ground.) Who gave him the right to care? (_Killer. _The word echoes in his ears.) Who gave him the right to—(_Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.)_

He jumps to his feet, voices accusing him of becoming what he hates, and walks to the fire where Bellamy is sitting. His legs shake beneath him as he lowers himself to the soil next to the man who has not spared him a glance. The silence between them is long and somber until finally Bellamy speaks.

"You shouldn't have killed him."

He nearly snaps. "You think I don't know that?" he hisses. "You think I haven't regretted it ever second after?"

"I don't know what you feel, Finn. I wouldn't have even thought you capable of this if I hadn't seen it myself."

He wonders how Bellamy is able to chill his blood and make him feel like a chastised child at the same time. He had known that many viewed the older man as dad of the camp, but he had always just assumed it was because many of the delinquents had lacked father figures to begin with. He never thought he would see this side of Bellamy Blake himself.

"I can't go back and change what I did any more than you can go back and save the three hundred people who died on the Ark." He knows it's a low blow and he sees Bellamy jerk around to face him, the low light of the fire casting an eerie glow on his face. "And if it helps us find Clarke, I'm not sure I would."

Bellamy stands, a look of fury on his face. "You pulled the trigger, Spacewalker." He spits out. "That's on you. Don't bring up my mistakes to make you feel better about your own."

Finn watches as he turns to walk away, and in one last desperate attempt to relieve himself of the voice taunting him, he calls out, "Since when do you care about a grounder's life anyways?"

Next thing he knows, Bellamy is toe to toe with him, a finger jabbed in his face. "Did it ever _fucking_ occur to you, Spacewalker, that it wasn't the grounder's life I was worried about? _There are some lines you can't uncross_."

He opens his mouth to respond, only for his voice to die in his throat as the real meaning of Bellamy's words hit him.

The former guard turns and sits by the fire, staring into the flames with dark, unwavering eyes. "It will eat at you, you won't be able to stop thinking about it," he says. "You'll wonder if you made the right decision, if it was worth it in the end. And believe me, it will haunt you. It will haunt you forever."

"Lincoln," Finn whispers. "You're talking about Lincoln."

A cold, humorless laugh escapes his counterpart. "I tortured the man, and what does he do? He goes and saves Clarke's life. He takes care of Octavia when I can't. He saves all of us by leading the Reapers to the Grounder army with you." There is a pause. (It scares Finn how dead his eyes are as they don't leave the fire.) "I hardly think that balances out in the end."

"You tortured him to save my life," Finn whispers. "You did it to save me and it worked."

"_It didn't work_." The pain in Bellamy's voice shakes him to the core. "It was _Octavia _that got the antidote. It was his love for her that saved you. I had nothing to do with it. Do you hear me, Finn?" He turns and looks at him. "_It wasn't worth it_."

There is a long silence before he turns back to the fire. "I just hope this time it was."

Two days later when Clarke stumbles through the forest and collapses in Bellamy's arms, he knows it wasn't worth it. He knows that she will never again fit against his body as well as she does her co-leader's, like a puzzle piece that's finally found its perfect fit. He knows that she will never look at him the way she used to.

He knows it has nothing to do with what he's done to find her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Anya<strong>_

She loses control of her hostage after about a day and a half trek in the forest. A dart coated with a strong sleeping drug knocks her out cold before she really knows what's going on. Then, the sky princess has her wrists tied and is stomping through the forest, dragging her behind.

The idiot's not even trying to hide their trail.

At the end of the third day, Anya can tell the blonde-haired alien is exhausted and it's only a matter of time before she'll be able to overtake her. Anger burns through her veins as she remembers the three hundred of her soldiers who had burned to death due to this girl's, this _child's_, antics.

She is about to make her move when the sky-girl stumbles into a clearing and suddenly they have guns pointed at them from every angle. Angry shouts tell them to put their hands in the air, but something shifts in the child-queen's eyes, as if she recognizes the voice.

A name tumbles from Clarke's lips. "_Bellamy_."

Anya expects her to run to the boy who stood with her at the bridge, the one who looked at her as if she was the entire world in a human being (she would never understand such strange affections as these sky people had) and grasped her hand tightly in his. But her eyes are glued to a different man, one with ghosts in his eyes and blood on his hands. She looks at him as if he is the only thing in the world that matters, as if s he is the embodiment of safety.

(She looks at him like he is hope.)

Even the hatred Anya carries for these strange beings that fell from space can't stand in the face of the wonder shown in her enemy's eyes. The sheer happiness etched on her captor's features is enough to make it seem as if the entire world is right with itself, just for a moment.

The man is by Clarke's side as her legs give out beneath her, shushing her softly and murmuring promises of protection as he lowers her body to the ground, resting her head against he crook of his arm. Her hands are clutching at his biceps, her nails digging into his skin (Anya wonders if it hurts him), holding onto him as if he is the last good thing in this galaxy.

"You're safe," he coos. He says the words over and over again and Anya finds even herself soothed by his calming tone. Her own legs give out as she drops to sit in the clearing. "You're safe now, princess. It's okay."

Anya watches as Clarke (her hair and face caked in so much gore and mud she barely looks human) raises a shaking hand to touch his face. "You were dead," she whispers, her fingers tracing over the contours of his cheek and lips. "I killed you, Bellamy. I pulled the lever with Finn and you outside. I killed both of you."

A crooked, broken smile escapes the man's, Bellamy's, lips as he pushes a strand of hair out of her face. "We're still alive and kicking. Come on, princess. Don't tell me you thought you'd be able to get rid of lover boy that easily?"

If Clarke heard his words about her lover, she ignored them. "You're alive," she whispers again. "You're alive. God, Bellamy, don't you _ever_ do something like that again."

A mixture between a laugh, a choke and a sob escapes him and he leans down and presses his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Anya watches as tears spill from behind his lids.

"I'm not going anywhere, princess," he swears (He looks like he's holding the entire universe in his arms). "I've got you."

He slides his arms underneath the bend of her knees and her back as he picks her up, and at that moment, Anya realizes something.

He loves her.

Oh, he may not know it yet, and the sky princess definitely doesn't, but there it is, plain as day. It is a dangerous love, the kind that destroys kingdoms, that the sands of time leave as legends. She knows that this man will fight armies, destroy worlds, and sacrifice his very humanity for this girl.

And she knows that all anyone has to do is direct his destruction to their will and they will rule this hell of a home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Raven<strong>_

"_I do love you."_

"_Not the way I want to be loved_."

The conversation with Finn haunts her as she lies on her cot in the med bay, unable to move her left leg. She stares up at the ceiling, counting the number of imperfection in the metal, finding it's weak points and wondering if she could make it collapse and put her out of her misery.

If she brought that damn 100-year-old bridge down she should be able to bring down one stupid escape pod ceiling.

_Unfortunately that was before you were a cripple,_ she thinks bitterly to herself. All that pain, all that agony, and for what? The use of _one _leg? One stupid bullet and now she's crippled for life. _I'm going to fucking shoot Murphy when they get back_, she thinks.

"You know brooding won't help anyone, right?" a voice breaks through her thoughts. Turning, she sees Abby approach, cleaning blood off her hands with a towel. The older woman looks exhausted, as if she's been to hell and back.

"What's going on, Doc?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. "You look like you just fought off a troop of grounders on your own."

Abby Griffin sits down on the edge of the bed and places her hands over her face. "I just lost the man who was shot when the gun accidentally discharged," she responds softly. "Some poor kid is coming home to no father. If they ever come home that is."

Raven opens her mouth to apologize when loud shouts suddenly ring out. Clarke's mother jumps to her feet and the mechanic reaches out to grab the brace Wick had made her.

"No," Abby says, frantically looking over her shoulder. "No, you need to rest. Raven, stay here."

"To hell with that," she responds, trying to mask the pain in her voice as she sits up completely. "You think it's them, don't you?"

Abby bites her lip as the shouts grow louder and louder.

Just then, Wick rushes into the room, a wild look in his eyes. "You guys aren't going to believe what's going on our there," he says through his gasps. The two women share a look and the decision is made.

"I'm coming." She hopes the finality in her voice is enough to convince the doctor.

Just then the door to the med bay bursts open. All three of their heads jerk around to see Finn barge in with his hands on his knees as he leans over, trying to catch is breath.

"Bellamy…following," he says through pants. "Clarke…he's got…Clarke."

Abby Griffin is gone faster than lightning and Raven is right behind her, her arm flung around Wick's shoulders as he helps her move faster. She manages to get outside the med bay just in time to see figures in the distance walking towards them, silhouetted by the setting sun. As they get closer, Raven can see Bellamy holding the blonde princess, her head resting against his chest and her eyes closed.

Abby wastes no time running up to them, her hand shaking as she whispers her daughter's name over and over and over again.

"It's all right, Mrs. Griffin," the dark-haired man says, his voice somehow strong and exhausted at the same time. "She's just sleeping."

"Where are the rest?" a voice calls out from the crowd. It is quickly followed by, "Where is my son?" and "Why did you just bring back one?"

Bellamy turns to a just arriving Finn and says, "You're up, diplomat-boy," before walking towards the med bay.

Raven can't help but chuckle at Finn's lost look. Hobbling over to him, Wick's brace hadn't given out yet (emphasis on yet), she gives him a firm pat on the back. "Come on," she says. "We have an angry mob to calm down."

Some time later (after they managed to convince the rest of the Hundred's parents they would soon know the location of their children), Raven makes her way back to the med bay.

As she walks in, she's about to call out for Abby when she hears a voice softly speaking in the room next to hers. Curiosity piquing, she sneaks a glance around the corner to see Bellamy sitting in a chair by Clarke's bedside, his hand running over his face.

"—and I swear, princess, you've made us all have some unhealthy co-dependence shit that revolves around you or something because everyone was just falling apart. It was a fucking nightmare. I mean, Spacewalker couldn't even use his pacifist skills to stop me from getting fucking tased by that Nazi of a chancellor, and then he went and did all this stupid shit that I promised him I wouldn't tell you about and he shouldn't have done it because I'm the one who does that kind of stuff and I just…" the man trailed off and let out a small sigh. "Never disappear like that again. Okay?"

"Okay, Bellamy."

The mechanic see's Bellamy's head jerk up in surprise. "Shit, you're awake."

Clarke's eyes open slowly. "I thought you'd have been happy to see me." A small smile passes the girl's lips and in that moment, Raven knows that everything will be all right.

"I can see you just fine when you're asleep, princess." A playful shove and an exaggerated response pulls a chuckle from the metaphorical mother of the Hundred before something shifts in her co-leader's eyes. "But it is good to hear your voice again," he murmurs, taking her hand and squeezing it in his.

She smiles and looks at him with something almost like affection. "Yeah," the princess who fell from the sky whispers. "Yeah, it is."

Raven makes her way quietly outside the med bay, only to encounter Monroe at the entrance.

"Hey, is Bellamy in there?" the younger girl asks. "I need to talk to Clarke and him about the plans for rescuing the rest of the Hundred."

"It can wait," she replies (she really can't fight the small grin that is dancing on the edge of her lips). "They're having a moment."

There is a look of shock on Monroe's face before it turns into an almost wicked smirk. "Really?" she asks. "Like, a _real_ moment?"

Shaking her head, she can't help but smile in reply. "No, not like that. At least not yet."

"They really just need to get it out of their system and kiss or fuck or something," the shooter groans. "Their whole 'sexual-tension' act is going to get someone killed."

Raven laughs and scratches the back of her head. "Yeah," she chuckles. "But you've got to admit, they take care of us all pretty well."

* * *

><p><strong>Lexa<strong>

When the two leaders first come to her, she assumes that they are more than they claim to be. They march right into her village, and the girl demands to see their leader, the man behind her standing stoically, silently, in support.

When a guard walks into her tent and tells her there are two sky people who want to see her, her curiosity is instantly raised as to how the foreigners managed to order her best, most stubborn warriors around like whipped dogs.

Her curiosity is what keeps them alive, and for a long while after, she can't decide if she regrets not killing them right away.

"How did you find this place?" is the first question she asks as she jumps off of a rock and lands lightly on her feet in front of the two aliens.

"We had directions," the blonde girl replies, "from one of your own."

The commander shakes her head, a slight laugh escaping her lips. "None of my people are traitors," she says. "They know the penalty for treason and all would rather face death by your hands than mine." In one swift movement, she has a knife twirling between her fingers and presses the cold metal against the girl's throat, a thin stream of blood running down the curvature of her neck. The boy moves as if to lunge forward at her, but the warriors around him all draw their weapons and she shouts his name, telling him to stop. He freezes in place; the expression on his face is one of fire and fury; it very much contrasts the one of ice on the girl's.

"I will ask you once more," Lexa spits. "How did you find this place?"

When she does not answer (only staring back with eyes the color of an ice storm), all it takes is a jerk of the commander's chin for her dark-skinned second to kick the boy's knees out from under him and jerk his head up by his hair, pressing a knife against his neck as well.

"Clarke!" he chokes out, and there is poor attempt to hide the pain in his voice. "A little help here?"

There is a look of utter loathing in the girl's eyes (Lexa can see that whoever this man is, he matters to this princess that fell from space) before she spits out one word.

"Anya."

It is as if the world around her slows and comes crumbling down on her. (_Anya.) _She pushes the girl away without a second thought, but does not give Indra a signal to release the boy. (_Anya._) Turning her back for a moment, the commander tries to hide the shock on her face and calm her breathing. (_Anya. Anya. Anya._) Finally, she musters the composure to turn back to the sky princess.

"You're lying."

The boy lets out a choked gasp of pain as the blade at his neck digs in a little deeper. "Clarke!" he half begs, half shouts.

"Leave him be!" the girl, Clarke, shouts. "I'm telling you the truth!"

"Anya died along with all the warriors you burned at your camp!" Lexa hisses. "You killed her."

"No, she got into the dropship before we burned the camp," the girl is pleading now, her eyes darting back and forth between Indra's captive and the commander. "She was taken to Mount Weather with us, but we escaped."

"No one escapes the mountain!" Indra hisses, and even more blood begins to run down the man's throat. Lexa cuts her off with a wave of her hand. (_Anya_, _Anya, Anya. Anya _alive.)

"We did," the girl says firmly. "They have 47 of my people there and at least a hundred of your own. Anya gave us directions here, told us you were her second, and said that we might be able to convince you to help us get them back."

There is a long silence that follows, the only sound being that of the pained breaths of the man whose entire neck was turning red with streams of blood. She knows, oh how she knows, that these people are most likely lying. But the thought, the very possibility, that Anya might still be alive…well, once it was enough to make her climb down the face of a waterfall into a pit of bones and dust; it would be enough to make her trust this sky girl.

"Where is she now?" Lexa whispers. "Where is my mentor?" (_Anya. Anya. Anya._)

"She is back at the camp," Clarke says. "She will be returned to you when we free those in Mount Weather."

A sort of fury rushes through Lexa's veins, filling her blood with fire from head to toe. How dare this girl hold Anya captive? How dare she keep her locked up as if she were some sort of…_bargaining chip_? "Very well," she tries to keep her voice calm as she responds. "Then we will keep your lover. He will be returned to you when we free those in Mount Weather."

A look of confusion crosses the girl's face a split second before dawning realization. "No!" she yells as Indra yanks the man to his feet, the knife never leaving his throat. "No," she repeats, "He is too valuable. He is one of the few warriors we have."

"Anya is a capable warrior as well," Lexa points out. "Yet you would keep her from accompanying us on this mission. What is to stop us from doing the same?"

"There is no guarantee that you wouldn't turn on us the moment you had her back," Clarke hisses, her hair swirling in a gust of wind like a golden halo. "I give you my word no harm will come to her, and even if this mission fails she will be set free."

Lexa does not speak and the tension in the air grows to an almost tangible level. Her eyes rake over Clarke for a moment, examining her in full before moving to the man that she seems to care so much about. "If any part of this bargain is not paid in full," she begins slowly, "I will see to it that every person in your camp is slaughtered." Her eyes lock with the sky princesses. "I will see to it that you two are the last to die, and I will see him die by _your_ hand."

The girl takes in a shaking breath and nods. "We'll meet you by our old camp at dusk in two days time," she says. "Bring warriors and weapons, we'll do the same." As she turns to go, she pauses for a moment, as if something else just crossed her mind. "And he's not my lover. He's my co-leader." She bites her lip. "He's my friend."

She then slides the man's arm around her shoulder to help him up. He leans on her for a second before straightening his back and bringing on hand to the deep cut on his neck (a few more seconds at Indra's hands and he would've been choking on his own blood).

"What are you going to do, carry me?" he mutters to the girl, just loud enough that Lexa can hear. "You're like half my weight, princess."

Clarke shoots her friend a glare. "Shut up, you lost a lot of blood," she replies, just as softly. "If you keep running your big mouth you're going to reopen the cut."

As they walk out of the camp, Lexa can barely hold back a chuckle as the dark-haired man says, "Why do I always get threatened in these situations?"

"Because you're my bitch and everyone knows it."

"I'm your—? Am not!"

The smile that passes over the commander's lips is barely a twitch upwards of her mouth. The two kids remind her of Anya and herself when they were younger, still ready to face the world together, before she was called to lead her people and her best friend.

If the two were not lovers yet, she would be very surprised if they weren't soon.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Jaha<strong>_

He hates the boy and it has nothing to do with the fact that he was nearly the former chancellor's assassin.

In their new world they need order, they need direction, and that boy is everything that order is not (he is chaos and mayhem under the guise of '_freedom_'). He knows that that boy would rather burn the world to the ground before he lived in a land where he had no control, no power. He knows that Bellamy Blake _fears _a world in which he does not control his own destiny.

(Or perhaps he is simply projecting himself upon a man who has been through trials that are by no means lesser than his own.)

He hates that impulsive boy, the janitor that has risen too high for his own good; who has for some reason taken it upon himself to protect the children whom he should never have met in the first play, whom he should have never fallen to Earth with (the Blake boy has protected so many of the delinquents, Jaha knows that. What he doesn't know is if he saved so many of the teenagers, _why didn't he save his son_?)

He hates the boy. He hates the boy so much it makes his blood boil. He hates him not only for what he is, but what he makes others become when they are with him.

Bellamy Blake is uncontrollable. On top of this, he also makes _Clarke_ uncontrollable. Because of this, Jaha hates Clarke, too.

(He sees them together and he knows, he _knows_ that she is the boy's and the boy is hers.)

He hates them both.

(She wasn't _supposed_ to be some janitor boy's.)

He hates them both so much.

(She was supposed to be someone else's.)

He hates them both so _fucking_ much.

(She was supposed to be someone special's)

He _hates_ them.

(Dark eyes he will never see again haunt his dreams.)

(He misses Wells.)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Kane<strong>_

"We're going after the rest of our people," Bellamy spits out. "You can send a hundred guards with us or you can send none. It doesn't change the fact that we're going."

He has to admit, they look good, the two of them standing side by side. Their differences seem to compliment each other, his dark hair versus her light, his passionate, furious expression versus her stoic, cold one. He'd expect them to be staggered, one standing behind while the other steps forward to speak, but they stand shoulder to shoulder, and for some reason, it radiates power. It gives off an air of unquestioned support; it promises and assures that the other is not alone. Even if he didn't know the miracles they've accomplished together (miracles like surviving an attack of three hundred trained warriors with little more than four kegs of gunpowder and a few dud bullets), he'd know that these two were capable of doing great things.

He hoped their strength would be enough for them to get through whatever trails lay ahead of them on their own.

"I can't send any guards with you," he says. "They're all needed here. However, I can't stop you from going either."

The expression on the Blake boy's face hardens with something between loathing and disgust. "You'll just leave them to die?" he spits out. "Your own people? What are you planning to tell all the parents out there, huh? That you're too afraid to save their kids? Do you really think that's going to help promote your whole idea of _unity_?"

There is a long pause where he studies each of the leaders. The cuts and wounds on their faces are healing, but he knows some of them will scar. He remembers seeing Clarke running around the hallways of the Ark, her eyes bright and filled with light. They are much harder now, and he can't decide if it's better this way (she should've been able to keep her innocence, but it's something that he can't give back to her now). She has been through so much; she has fought so hard. But she has also grown. She has grown into a leader, into a warrior. She has grown into a person that can not only survive down on Earth, but prosper. As his eyes move from her to the man next to her, he realizes that she has found someone else who can prosper with her.

He hopes they will live long enough to see the good things life can offer them.

"I can't send any guards with you," he repeats slowly (Bellamy scoffs). "And I can't tell you that the weapons are left in the old council chamber. I also can't tell you that there is a changing of the guards at eight-fifteen every night, and I can't tell you that the guard who is on duty tonight is notorious for being drunk while on watch."

He turns his back before he can see the shock (or the gratitude) on either of the co-leaders' faces. "There are quite a few things I can't tell you." He doesn't know if he's murmuring it to them or to himself.

"Of course," he hears Clarke murmur before he hears the shuffling of feet.

"There is one thing that I can tell you, though," he calls out before they are completely gone. Slowly, he turns to see both of them standing at the door of the tent, Bellamy's hand already grabbing the fabric covering the entrance. "Salvation comes at a price," he says, his voice a cross between something painful and something ominous. "Be sure that you're will to pay it."

The two leaders glance at each other and then walk out without another word.

He stands there for a moment before he sees Abby walk in. She freezes on the spot.

"You just did something you shouldn't have."

It's not even a question anymore. He shrugs and tries to fight off the small smile that is dancing on the edge of his mouth. "What else is new?" he asks.

As he looks out the door, he sees Clarke and Bellamy standing close to each other, the height difference between them obvious as they communicated secret affairs and plans. Then, his eyes dart back to Abby. He knows where Clarke gets her strength. And he sees more of himself in the boy than he'd like to admit.

Maybe they weren't that different after all. (He really isn't sure if it's a good or a bad thing.)

* * *

><p><strong>Jasper<strong>

He knows everything is going to go to hell the second he sees them sneak in through the ventilation duct into the 47's sleeping chambers.

The two of them, Finn, Murphy (goddamn _Murphy) _and some guy he doesn't recognize.

That's it. That's their entire rescue team.

Dear God, they're all so fucked.

Bellamy instantly hushes the murmurs of Clarke and his names and gesture them to file out. "The tunnel goes out to the east entrance. If you run and jump off the waterfall, you'll be able to swim south for about two miles and then go west. You'll make it back to the clearing by the orchard where we'll regroup." He says his words loudly and the 47 are all instantly waving their hands, trying to tell him that the room is bugged that the Mountain Men are hearing his every word.

But the frantic gestures slow to a stop as they all see Clarke grab a nearby piece of paper and write, "We know the room is bugged. We recruited a few Grounders to help, they'll be waiting outside. They'll take you to the Ark a few miles east of the dropship. Make it there, and you'll be safe."

The panic slowly disappears from the kids' faces as they realize what is going on. They all look at each other and nod before scrambling to climb into the air duct. Jasper watches as Miller is about to climb in before Bellamy reaches out and grabs his arm. "Keep them safe," he says in a voice that is so low it is barely audible (yet it still rings out across the room because it's _Bellamy_ speaking).

A wave of an emotion he does not recognize washes over the young chemist. It is a strange mixture of anger, jealousy and bitterness. Since when did _Nathan Miller_ become Bellamy's second in command? _He _didn't help everyone survive this long in this hell of a mountain. _He_ didn't come up with the plan to hack into Mount Weather's systems. So why was _he_ being graced with the responsibility of keeping everyone safe?

It wasn't fair as far as Jasper was concerned.

Still, he can't help but feel a swell of pride when Bellamy shoves the gun he was carrying into the young delinquent's hands and clasps him on the back, saying, "Watch their backs, Jasper."

He's just about to climb into the duct when the door bursts open and a group of guards lead by Cage barge in.

There is a split second pause, and then Jasper's prediction comes true.

Everything goes to hell.

Voices overlap as a soldier yells, "Stop them!" and Murphy is screaming at the last few kids to "_get the fuck out of here_" while Finn's gentle ushering turns into frantic shoving. The whole time, Cage's eyes don't leave Clarke's body as she turns and tells Finn and the man he does not recognize (she calls him 'Wick') to get out.

Everything moves in slow motion after that.

Cage is screaming words that somehow sound like, "Kill them all!"

The guards hesitate for a moment (_'They're just kids' _their eyes seem to say).

The barrel of Cage's gun raises and points at Clarke like an accusatory finger, his eyes burning like molten metal with murder and fury.

And out of the corner of his eye, the delinquent sees the heart of the world he knows moves.

"_Clarke!_"

A gunshot.

And then the entire world freezes, the _entire world_. Except for the red stain slowly starts spreading across Bellamy's stomach as he stands in front of his blonde-haired princess, taking the bullet that was meant for her chest.

He's dying. He's going to die for her.

(There is a black hole lodged in Jasper's throat, stealing all his hair and collapsing his chest in on itself. _He's dying, he's dying, he's dying, _echoes over and over in his head. _He's dying for __**her**__._)

Jasper can already see in Clarke's eyes that she will never forgive him (she will never forgive herself) for this (she will never forgive him for loving her this much).

"Well, shit," the janitor who fell from the sky for his sister says, his voice so soft, so shocked that it makes Jasper's chest physically hurt. "That's not good."

Then Bellamy is falling and Clarke is screaming and he is rushing to his leader's side despite the hail of bullets that are flying around them (the guards are closing their eyes. _They're just kids_, their brows read). Finn and Murphy are close behind and before he can really process what's going on, he has one of Bellamy's arms slung over his shoulder while the other is around Finn, and they are dragging him towards the ventilation shaft. Murphy is raining bullets back towards the door and he is pushing Clarke towards the duct before he himself turns and crawls in after them.

Murphy's yells of, "Go, go, go!" are lost in Clarke's whimpers of "No, no, _no_," which despite being softer, seem to ring out across the metal shafts like the echo of an explosion.

(He thinks he hears her whisper something that sounds like "_salvation" _and "_too high"_ and "_not this price.")_

Jasper grabs her shoulders and gives her a solid shake. "Clarke," he whispers. "_Clarke_, look at me."

Her hand is shaking over her mouth as she manages to tear her eyes from her co-leader's prone form to meet his. She looks so vulnerable, so lost; more so than he's ever seen her before (It isn't until this point in time that he realizes the full extent of how much the two leaders _need_ each other).

"Clarke, if you want him to live, we have to keep moving."

He sees her terrified eyes blink back tears and her expression harden. He sees her steel herself and push back the fear that he knows so desperately wants to consume her.

"L-lets get him out of here," she manages to choke out before she beings moving again. "He's losing a lot of blood."

As Jasper watches the princess move forward on unsteadying feet, he can only pray that her knight makes it through these next few hours. If he does not, well, it wouldn't surprise him if the princess didn't either.

* * *

><p><strong>Monty<strong>

Monty Green had always known there was something special between Clarke and Bellamy (a man just didn't go from a cold blooded murderer to willingly being strung up by a noose to save a sixteen-year-old boy without a reason to do so). He was just never quite able to figure out what it was.

It was a strange development, the relationship between the two leaders of the Hundred. He had been wary of Bellamy from the moment the older man had opened the door to the dropship, ignoring the caution that others offered, warning of radiation and death. He had very quickly discovered that the former guard was selfish, self-serving and arrogant, but at the same time, he somehow held an air that drew others to him, made people _want_ to follow him. From the moment Bellamy Blake had opened his mouth, Monty knew that this man could bring the world to its knees.

He just never expected to see Clarke Griffin bring _Bellamy_ to his knees.

The sudden switch in their relationship was so sudden, following their trip to the bunker, that Monty (and the rest of the camp, to be honest) couldn't help but wonder what happened while they were gone. Rumors had flown around the camp for weeks afterwards, ranging anywhere from blackmail to more…licentious suggestions. But neither threats nor the promise of sexual favors could account for the sheer degree of loyalty the dark-haired guard gave his princess afterwards. Monty knew it had to have been something more.

He had watched Bellamy go to hell and back for this girl; he had watched the man slowly go from wishing she had never been born to being completely and utterly dependent on her. He knows that the man who was able to stop the world with his words was, for lack of better words, whipped beyond the point of return. He had known for a long time that Bellamy loved Clarke (with good reason to. "What would Clarke do?" He repeated his own words to himself more often than he'd like to admit.).

Of course Bellamy loved Clarke, they all did.

And in a way, they all loved Bellamy, too. The two parents of the Hundred; Bellamy as the father and Clarke as the mother. It was a broken, fucked-up system to say the least (putting all that pressure on a seventeen-year-old and a man who spent most of his life hiding his little sister under floorboards), but it seemed to work. Clarke would stand tall and proud, and Bellamy would always be right next to her, clutching a gun to protect her from anyone who wanted to hurt her, from anyone who wanted to hurt all of them. And he always did too. He always managed to protect them.

Monty Green had always wanted a real family.

Oh, he had Jasper. The two of them definitely fought like brothers, they had grown up together, hit on girls together (well, Jasper did anyways), lived together, worked together, hell, they even got arrested together. Jasper was always the brother he wanted.

But he had seen how his friend's parents had looked at him, like he was a cockroaches crawling around their home, a parasite stealing food out of their son's mouth. He had seen the animosity in their eyes, the disgust behind their smiles as they looked at the orphan rat who for some reason followed their son like a lost puppy. He saw that they thought he'd only bring Jasper down. And they were right, weren't they? It was _him_ who got them arrested. It was his idea to steal the herbs. But then again, Jasper never seemed to care. Maybe he shouldn't either.

Still, he had always wanted parents, a family; more than just a brother and two strange adults who hated his presence. He had always wanted a _real _family.

How ironic that he finally got his wish when he was given a death sentence.

He is the first one by Jasper's side as the remaining rescuers stumble into an open clearing a few miles away from the mountain. At the sight of blood being absorbed into a white cloth wrapped around Bellamy's abdomen, he can't help but feel a little sick (Bellamy should not _bleed. _Bellamy always protected them. Bellamy was invincible.). From behind him, he hears the remaining Grounders hiss and murmur words in a language he doesn't know.

As Finn and Jasper lay the wounded leader into the grass, he watches in awe as Clarke drops to her knees beside her friend (the way she is looking at him is not the way one looks at a friend) and presses her already bloodstained hands against the bullet wound.

"I-I need a knife," she manages to stutter out, and he sees her hands shaking so badly he wonders if she'll even be able to hold a weapon. "A heated knife. We n-need to cauterize the wound. If we can stop the bleeding we'll be able to carry him home and—"

She is cut off as a Grounder woman with black war paint around her eyes steps forward and raises her hand. "Clarke of the Sky People," she says in a voice that is both the roaring of the ocean and a whisper of a leaf on a breeze at the same time, "I have lost enough warriors to know that this one is too far gone. He will only slow us down."

"No!"

To his surprise, the delinquent turns to see none other than Jasper Jordan standing, a determined look on his face. "No," he says more firmly, despite his eyes nervously darting around to see all eyes on him. "W…We don't abandon our own."

For some reason Monty feels as if the words he is saying are not his own. If anything, the realization moves him even more. The remaining 47 delinquents seem to all murmur in agreement, and shuffle in closer together (they're a _family,_ a real family); in response the Grounders all place hands on their weapons.

Suddenly, a soft voice seems to carry throughout the clearing.

"Lexa," Clarke whispers. "Lexa, _please_."

The Grounder woman looks at the blonde girl who fell from the sky with a gaze somewhere between befuddlement and suspicion. "You gain 47 of your people back and in return you free my mentor," she says. "What is the loss of one man?" There is something calculating in her eyes, as if she is watching to see Clarke's reaction to her words.

There is a long silence, and in that moment Monty sees everything that the loss of one would mean for the daughter of the stars, the mother of the Hundred. It would mean the loss of her reason. It would mean the loss of the one person who she could always trust. It would mean the loss of her ability to survive on this wretched planet. It would mean the loss of any chance she could ever have at happiness. It would mean the loss of a friend who is so much more than a friend.

It would mean the loss of _Bellamy._ He knows that nothing that could ever be offered would be worth the loss of him.

Clarke looks at the commander with tears in her eyes and simply says, "He is to me what Anya is to you."

Something shifts in Lexa's face long enough for Monty to see that whatever Clarke said has hit a weak spot, that her words hold so much more meaning than they seem to.

"Please," the blonde begs. "Please, don't make me leave him."

Slowly, the Grounder leader nods. She turns and relays a list of orders he doesn't understand, but her soldiers seem to. One of them builds a small fire and heats a knife over its embers while the others begin to build a stretcher. Some of the 47 begin to turn away, hands covering mouths and eyes as to not watch the situation about to unfold before them.

Monty finds that he cannot peel his eyes away.

Lexa kneels down next to Bellamy, white hot knife in hand, and when Clarke reaches out for the weapon, the Grounder woman shakes her head. "No one should have to inflict this amount of pain on one they love," she says softly. She tears the cloth away from Bellamy's wound and pushes it between his teeth. "Hold him," she commands Jasper and Miller, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and gestures to the wounded man's shoulders.

Then she presses the knife to his flesh and his half delirious screams rip through the air like a blade through skin.

It is the most horrible noise Monty has ever heard. Jasper is turning green, Miller is white as a sheet, and even Murphy is turning away, his hand sliding down his face as he mouths, "Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god." Bellamy's back arches against the dirt and his cries echo in the clearing.

"He will bring the armies of hell down on us!" a Grounder hisses, loud enough to be heard over the screams. Lexa just grits her teeth and presses the blade harder against the wound, and finally the warrior grunts and grabs his spear, ready to put the man who fell from space out of his misery.

It is Clarke who moves first. Before anyone can truly process what is going on, she is leaning over her co-leader, taking his face in her hands, and covering his mouth with hers, muffling his screams. Her touch miraculously seems to ease him as his body lies flat against the dirt once more and his screams turn into muted whimpers. Her thumb brushes gently against his cheekbone and Monty does not miss the tears streaming down her face from behind closed lids.

(He can't help but think that perhaps all Clarke did at that bunker to make her co-leader so loyal to her was express the depth of her need for him.)

"I've got you," she whispers against his mouth. "I've got you, Bellamy."

This kind of love is dangerous, he knows that much. This is the kind of love that prompted a man to walk into hell without a second thought. This is the kind of love that brings empires to ruin. This kind of love will destroy them all and leave them nothing but a pile of ash and dust where a future might have been.

He realizes in that moment that this is the love of a family.

It makes him want to dance for joy and vomit in the dirt all at once.

* * *

><p><strong>Abby<strong>

It is not a well-kept secret that Abby Griffin does not like Bellamy Blake.

She never has. He has an aura of impulsiveness about him, as if he is always about to do something stupid, something that will endanger everyone around him. She knows that he is dangerous; not because he is selfish or greedy, but rather because everything he does is done for those he loves. She knows that he nearly killed her best friend in an attempt to follow his sister down on a death mission, and the fact that he, or any of the Hundred, survived this long is a miracle. Still, Abby is wary of him; he knows no boundaries, no limits, and she shivers to think of what he must have done alone on Earth, with no laws to rein in the cruelty and brutality a man such as he could usher in.

(He reminds her too much of Marcus. And if Clarke is anything like her…well, she doesn't like where this is going.)

Taking her only daughter on a suicide mission to rescue a group of teenagers that are probably already dead definitely doesn't help his standing on her "People to Keep Away From Clarke" list.

There have been numerous times she wished she had just left him to die, too many times when she regretted not letting him wait at the dropship like he wanted to so badly when they first found him. He's caused her so much trouble, jeopardized her daughter so much; she truly just wants to be rid of him. If there's one thing she can't understand, it's why he tries so hard to protect the people he loves, yet he is constantly putting Clarke in danger.

(Unless it's Clarke…no. No, she cannot believe that.)

They had been gone for a day and a half now, and with every second she didn't have her daughter in her sights, she became more and more afraid she was never going to see her again. Despite their still strained relationship and Clarke's…_cold_ demeanor towards her, Abby still felt that her daughter was her responsibility, as if she could salvage some fragment of innocence left in her.

(She wants her to remain a child so badly, to still be the girl she held in her arms and promised that everything was going to be all right before she went to the ground.)

In a way, part of her blames the boy with bullets in his mouth and fury in his eyes for the loss of innocence in her only child. She blames him for waking Clarke to the horrors of the world, opening her eyes to its cruelty (she cannot accept that perhaps she was the one who did that when she sent her down to Earth, and now he is the one protecting her from them).

She prays every night that she will not lose her daughter to this man.

When 47 teenagers and a small band of Grounders carry a delirious Bellamy Blake into camp in a pool of his own blood, she wants to leave him to rot; oh, how she wants to let him die. She wants to pin all of her sins onto him and offer him like a sacrificial lamb to atone for all that she has done.

Then she looks into Clarke's ice blue eyes, filled with oceans ready to spill over (she's trying to be strong, oh, how she's trying to be strong), and hears her daughter's voice crack as she whispers, "Mom, _please_," and she knows that if anything, letting this boy die will make her sins unforgivable.

Goddamn it all to hell, she shouldn't have tried so hard to save him. She has no anesthesia, and only a few loyal delinquents were there to hold him down as she cuts into the wound that had been burned shut only a few hours ago to remove the bullet from his abdomen. In the end, one more complication and she simply wouldn't have been able to save him (she could've pretended she did everything she could do. God, how she wants to be _rid_ of him).

She watches as Clarke runs her fingers through his hair and whispers unintelligible words of comfort between his howling screams, and her desire to simply watch his life fade from his body is anything but quelled.

When she emerges from the medical bay several hours later, blood under her fingernails and dark circles under her eyes, only to find 47 kids all jumping to their feet from their positions around the entrance, she realizes that the devastation of his death would have sent a ripple across the camp; it would have disturbed so many more than just her daughter.

"He'll live," she says shortly, and turns to leave. Still, she cannot leave fast enough to escape the sagging of relief that spreads across the kids like a wave. (She wants to want to let him die still, but she is finding it harder and harder by the second.)

A hand wraps around her elbow, stopping her before she can flee the living proof that Bellamy Blake is not the monster she wants him to be. As she turns back, she finds herself staring into familiar brown eyes and a bright red jacket.

"He's okay?" Raven asks. She bites her lip for a moment. "I heard his screaming and…" she trails off, wincing, and Abby knows that she's remembering her own surgery.

"He'll live," she repeats before trying to pull away.

The mechanic takes none of it, tightening her grip on the older woman's arm. "Abby, I know you don't like him," she begins ("I think everyone knows that," the doctor mutters under her breath, but her comment is ignored), "and I know that you don't like the fact that Clarke and he are so close, but you can't try to pull them apart. Not like this. Not now."

"I think I can decide what's best for my daughter," Abby replies coldly, "and that boy is not. Her being near him could miraculously heal him and I still wouldn't let her a within hundred yards from him."

Something flashes in Raven's eyes, a mixture of disbelief and anger, before she spits out, "She's not a child anymore, Abby. And it's not him I'd be trying to stop if you're worried about her seeing him. We both know she's going to be the one who won't let him out of her sight after this."

Her arm is released and all she can do is watch the brown ponytail disappear into a sea of faces as she stands in shock.

Aimlessly, she wanders her way back into the place where her patient is lying. When she finally arrives, she is surprised to see everyone has gone except for Clarke. Her daughter is sitting next to him, her fingers lightly scratching against his scalp as she hums, a far away look in her eyes.

"Clarke," she hears Bellamy mumble, still feverish and barley conscious. The word barley making it past his lips, and yet there is so much _more _behind the word. It sends shivers down Abby's spine.

Clarke stops humming and draws her attention to the man lying in front of her. "Hey," she whispers. "Everything's going to be all right. I've got you." She pauses and Abby thinks that will be the end of their conversation, that Bellamy will drift back into oblivion. Then her daughter rests her forehead on his shoulder and mumbles, "You complete and utter _ass_. You took a fucking bullet for me."

"Yeah," he says. There is a pause. "You should've left me." Abby briefly wonders _how_ he is able to somehow hold a conversation only an hour after surgery (she has to distract herself from the fact that this man, this man that she _hates_, saved her daughter's life).

There is a long silence, and Clarke studies the man before her with such intensity, it is starting to make the doctor uncomfortable. "I think you know I couldn't have even if I wanted to," Clarke finally mutters, and Bellamy closes his eyes once more.

It takes all Abby has within her to flee the room and manage to escape outside before she lets out a choked laugh. In that moment, she realizes that she could place them on opposite tides of the ocean, she could build a wall to the heavens between them, hell, she could bury one six feet deep in the ground, and it wouldn't make a difference.

No power on Earth was going to be able to keep her daughter and the man while a grenade for a heart separated for very long.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Miller<strong>_

As life moves on, the remaining Hundred find their place within Camp Jaha. They separate, many returning into the arms of loving parents and taking up old jobs within the camp, yet somehow they still stay together. It is not often that the delinquents aren't seen in each other's company, whether it be eating, sitting around the campfire late at night, or just trying to avoid their daily chores.

He likes to think that since their friendship has been forged in fire, nothing, not even the coldest ice, could break it apart. (What can he say? He's always been a bit of a romantic at heart.)

The bond is most prevalent between Clarke and Bellamy; it is a simple fact no one tries to deny. It is rare that the two _don't _spend their spare time in each other's company. But somehow, the two leaders manage to move on with their lives pretending there is nothing more than a business-like partnership between them.

Nobody talks about the kiss.

He's not even sure Bellamy remembers it, to be honest. His friend was so delirious, so out of sorts at the time, he wouldn't be surprised if most of the events that day had slipped his mind.

Still, he sees the effect of it on the rest of the 47 and their two leaders anyways. The stupid boys who would sometimes try to hit on Clarke have all but stopped (and since Bellamy still winces when he lifts his hands above his head, Miller knows that he didn't have anything to do with it), the two leaders are given more room when they talk, and the teasing sniggers that would often sound among the remaining Hundred seem to cease once they realize that the depth of the relationship between the princess and her knight is no laughing matter.

(Murphy once made a comment that if the two of them weren't so close, he'd think they were a couple. The oxymoron somehow seems to make sense.)

If there is one thing Nathan Miller prides himself on, it's his loyalty. He'd take a knife to the chest before he'd betray his friends. He follows Bellamy with blind, unabashed faith, and he knows that the older boy is thankful for it. But these days, he is finding that he wants to take Bellamy by the shoulders and shake some sense into him more and more often.

It's a goddamn tragedy that both of them could be so incredibly in love with each other and yet neither could notice it.

He's tried pushing it a couple of times. There was the one instance during the graveyard watch, though (which seems to be the only watch the adults trust teenagers to take).

"How's Clarke?" he had asked.

Bellamy had shot him a strange look and said, "Why are you asking _me_?"

"You two seem to spend an awful lot of time together…"

The older man had shot him a wry smile, one that told him this conversation was not being taken in the way he wanted it to be taken, and replied, "Miller, are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous? I don't know Clarke that well."

Bellamy's smirk revealed the true meaning behind the words. The thief had snapped to his feet, his face turning bright red as he stuttered out, "Jealous? What? _No._ I just…_Jesus_ _Christ_, Bellamy. Why the hell would I be jealous?" He almost tacked an, _I don't swing that way_, onto the end, but bit his tongue when he realized that it might not necessarily be true (ok, so he swung that way _some _of the time, but not all the time and _definitely_ not for Bellamy).

Bellamy hadn't stopped laughing for the rest of the shift and Miller didn't bring up the topic again.

He tried subtly implying it in numerous ways, but everything just seemed to go over his leader's head. For someone intelligent enough to inspire and convince a hundred kids to go up against an army of trained warriors, and somehow _win_, he sure was an idiot sometimes.

When he acquires the courage to just straight up ask, it's a less than opportune moment.

He's scouting new territory along the river with Bellamy and Murphy when he finally just says, "Why haven't you asked Clarke out yet?"

Bellamy nearly falls into the river.

He whirls around so quickly that he loses his balance and the only thing that stops him from tumbling into the river is Murphy's hand that wraps around his forearm and balances him.

Bellamy's jaw just hangs open for a moment, and in that moment Murphy takes the opportunity to say, "Seriously, man. Why haven't you?"

His face turning red and his mouth opening and closing a few times without any sound, Bellamy finally manages to splutter out, "It's not like that."

Miller wants to say that it most definitely _is _like that and if he thinks it's not like that he's obviously wrong, but before he can speak Murphy just waves his hand dismissively and says, 'Whatever. I heard that Wick dude from engineering was going to ask her out soon anyways."

Bellamy goes from bright red to white as a sheet in barely a second and Murphy turns and walks away, a spring in his step and a whistled tune on his lips.

Miller manages to catch up with him and when he knows that the older man can't hear them, he hisses, "What are you playing, John? You know just as well as I do that Wick is head over heel in love with Raven, not Clarke."

Murphy shoots him a devious grin (he swears, sometimes he thinks that man is the devil himself) and says, "You know that. I know that. _He_ doesn't know that."

Giving him an appraising look, the thief says, "You do realize that if this works you're going to be a hero."

Murphy winks at him (fucking winks) and replies, "Oh, I'm banking on it, Beanie-Boy."

For the first time in a long while, Miller's glad there are people with looser morals than he (and probably less pure motives as well. Come to think of it, he's always liked Murphy).

* * *

><p><em><strong>Octavia<strong>_

She knows her brother well enough to know when he's in love.

She sees the way he tenses when Clarke talks to people (specifically men) who aren't him. She sees him bite his tongue when Finn lays his hand on her shoulder. She sees the way his brows knit with worry when Clarke steps out of the med bay after a sleepless night. She sees the way he growls a little bit whenever someone dares contradict his princess.

But more than that, she sees the way he relaxes when she's around. She sees the way his smile gets a little bit wider, his eyes get a little bit brighter whenever she is speaking. She sees the way years seem to lift off his face, making him seem ages younger than he is in her presence, only for them to come seeping back the moment she leaves.

Yes, she knows her brother well enough to know that he's head-over-heels in love with Clarke Griffin.

And she knows Clarke Griffin well enough to know that she's head-over-heels in love with Bellamy Blake.

It's not that difficult to notice that Clarke also seems to relax when her brother is near, to see that she leans into his touch rather than stiffens against it (like she does now with Finn's). One doesn't have to look closely to realize that the two of them are simply…_better_ when they're together.

And of course there was the matter of her absolute breakdown during the Mount Weather mission.

Octavia had not been informed that the rescue was happening (thank you, Big Brother, emphasis on the capital B's), and Raven couldn't even fill her in on what happened, her crippled leg making it impossible for the mechanic to tag along either. She was instead forced to pick up pieces of what happened from Jasper, Monty, Miller, and Murphy (_Murphy!_) in the weeks that followed (and since boys have _no_ sense of romance, she just _knows_ that they left out all the juicy parts).

Well, they left in one good part: the part where her big brother was kissed by Clarke Griffin while his life was draining away before her very eyes.

(She will _never_ forgive him for not letting her come with.)

By the time she had gotten the news, however, it was not by any means popular gossip. She had spent the first few weeks after the mission either being extremely angry at Bell for going on the rescue mission without her or being stuck on the emotion roller-coaster ride of telling him she was going to kill him and then sobbing that he could have _died_ and she _wouldn't have been there_ (she doesn't even know what the fuck a roller-coaster is, but from what she's read, they'd make her feel a fraction of the nausea and sickness she had felt when she learned that her brother was in critical condition in the med bay, being operated on by a woman who didn't even _like_ him).

But back to the point. The two co-leaders obviously loved each other, and it seemed that everyone but them knew it. They were so co-dependent, she's surprised one isn't the human embodiment of a voodoo doll for the other, doubling over as soon as their counterpart stubs their toe or some shit like that (the way they react to each other's needs so quickly is fucking _unnatural_).

And yet the king and princess insist on pretending there's nothing between them (and there _so_ is).

It's a spring night, about five months after they rescued their friends from Mount Weather, when she approaches Raven. All it takes is a look and a nod and the new mission is set.

"We've got to do something about Mom and Dad," she says.

The smirk that passes Raven's lips can only be described as unholy. "Now you're talking, O." She picks up her chair and scoots closer to her new partner in crime. "What's the plan?"

She shrugs as if the plan is the most obvious course of action in the world. "They spend so much time together, they're basically already married," she begins. "They're…they're _too _comfortable with each other."

Raven leans back and raises a perfectly curved brow (goddamn that woman and her perfect eyebrows. Octavia will never know how she manages to make them look so perfect). "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that we throw in some competition for their affections."

There is a pause, then Raven is keeled over laughing and Octavia is wearing a proud grin. The adults at the other table are shooting them strange looks, but Raven is laughing to hard to notice and Octavia…well, Octavia thinks this might be the greatest accomplishment in all of her short life.

"That is just too choice," the mechanic finally manages to wheeze out as she begins to recover. "Remind me never to cross you, Blake."

If at all possible, her grin grows even wide. "Okay," she says, "so obviously we want as few people in on this as possible. If word gets back to them, we're screwed."

Raven nods. "Who would we get for Bellamy?"

"Easiest option would be you," Octavia replies, biting her lower lip. "You're already in on the plan, and I mean, you two are pretty good friend already, and since I'm his sister…just, yeah. I'll suggest the idea that you two are getting close, you just play it up."

"Octavia Blake, " the older girl says, her voice filled with mocking shock, "are you giving me permission to hit on your brother? I feel so honored!"

"Don't be," she mumbles under her breath. "He's an oblivious ass. I don't get what Clarke sees in him."

Chuckling, Raven stands from her seat, her brace squeaking slightly as she straightened her leg (Octavia made a mental note to get her more oil to stop that god awful sound). "And for Clarke?" she asks.

"We're going to need two guys at least," Octavia replies without missing a beat, "one to hit on her and one to plant the idea in Bellamy's head."

Raven bites her lip and nods thoughtfully. "I think Wick would be okay with hitting on her. I mean, if I'm going after Bellamy, he's going to have to be in on the plan because…" she trails off and clears her throat, looking embarrassed. "Well, because you know."

Smirking, Octavia replies, "Because you two are super into each other? Yeah, I know, Rae. Pretty much the entire camp knows." _Except for Bellamy and Clarke_, she thinks to herself. This is working out way too well.

Raven swats at her head, and the younger girl barely has time to duck and avoid the hit. "Okay," the mechanic says, a playful smile dancing along the edge of her features. "So I hit on Bellamy, you point it out to Clarke, Wick hits on Clarke…and who points it out to Bellamy? It has to be someone clever enough to make it obvious without making it too obvious."

Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia notices Murphy sitting down at a table alone, his supper in hand and a bored expression on his face. Her eyes dart back to Raven to see an approving nod.

It takes neither of them more than three seconds to pull up a chair and sit down across from him. He has a slightly befuddled look on his face, his spoon full of whatever muck they're eating stopped halfway to his mouth. Octavia carefully sets her elbows on the table, folds her hands and leans forward.

"How would you like to help us get two certain morons to realize the depth of their true love for each other?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Murphy<strong>_

He is out on patrol when catches the two of them kissing outside of camp a few weeks later.

He can't help it. He double overs laughing, his breaths coming in wheezes as he dodges the pinecones Clarke is hurling at him and the biting words Bellamy sends his way.

"Get out of here, Murphy!" the older man growls, an ounce of the Bellamy he knew when they first landed on Earth resurfacing.

"It's about goddamn time!" he calls over his shoulder, rushing back to camp as Bellamy begins to graphically tell him how he plans to slaughter him if he says _anything_ to _anyone_ about this.

He's not even going to lie, he's seen this one coming since the day Bellamy caught Clarke over the Grounder pit their second day on the ground. A story with a start like that couldn't end any other way.

Octavia knows within five minutes, Raven in ten, and Miller in fifteen. The entire camp has heard the news before sundown, and Murphy spends the next week hiding from a slightly amused Clarke and very pissed off Bellamy.

He's okay with it, though. The rest of the Hundred really do view him as somewhat of hero (Octavia and Raven and him are hailed as the heroes who finally got the their no-so-metaphorical-now mom and dad to…well…yeah). Bellamy and Clarke are in love, and for once in his life, he fits in with everyone else.

Things could have turned out a lot worse.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN Yeah, I really have no idea what happened with this fic. Tumblr account is now bellsclarke. AO3 is still viansian. Reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading!)**


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